


Path of the Chosen

by Huntershelper25



Series: Path of the Chosen [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Original Character-centric, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntershelper25/pseuds/Huntershelper25
Summary: Brooke is a 21 year old girl who’s life is flipped upside down when she receives a phone call from someone she hasn’t heard from in years which leads to events that cause her to get sucked back into the lives of two old friends. Along the way she learns secrets about herself and the truth about her family. She is forced to face her destiny. Which path will she choose: duty or family?Author's note: There are some direct quotes and scenes from the show in my story. This is for continuity purposes and to show how Brooke fits into the story line. I had a dream about a girl who was part of the story and actually stuck around for longer than a season and my mind wouldn't shut up so this story was born. I do not claim anything that is directly from the show as my own. Brooke and her original story line is all that I claim as my own.There will be some smut in the beginning few chapters in the form of flashbacks to establish character development and relationships. After that the smut will die down to almost nonexistent and shouldn't be too graphic.





	1. Path of the Chosen:Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life was going about as usual when Brooke gets a call from someone she hadn't heard from in years with some really bad news.

Chapter One

_The straps on her wrists cut deeper as she writhed in agony. The man she had grown to call her uncle dragged the blade of his knife across her skin for what she felt was the millionth time. The dim candlelight revealed his son, who wasn't much older than twenty-two, waiting in the corner behind him with fear in his eyes and indecision etched all over his face. She didn’t blame John for what he was doing; all signs pointed to one conclusion. He was doing what he thought he had to. After all, she had led them straight into an ambush and had almost gotten them all killed._

_“Dad…” the boy in the corner whispered cautiously as John wiped the blood from his knife and dipped it into a large plastic jug of holy water._

_“Dean, either help or get out!”_

_Dean gave her a pleading look. She shook her head. He closed his eyes in defeat, walked out of the room, and slammed the back door as he left the house._

_Strapped to the chair and unable to defend herself, she watched as John walked towards her, his face a picture of disgust and anger. “Now that we’re alone, let’s get this show officially on the road.”_

_She could have sworn she saw a twisted look of remorse and apology flash across his face just as he brought the blade down across her left cheek._

        Brooke awakened with a start, sweat covering her body and soaking her shirt. She sighed in relief when she realized she was still in her motel room, safe and alone. She slowly stood and walked the three feet to the bathroom. It had been five years since that long December night in Illinois, but she could still feel that blade slide across her skin.

        As she walked across the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to give herself a good once over. Long, chestnut wavy locks all in a jumble from tossing and turning -- emerald green eyes above dark circles and bags from too many long nights; to the outside world, she was pretty, but the job had really taken its toll. Her small-breasted, twenty-two-year-old body was lean and strong, but all she saw were the scars. The faint lines that adorned her body were a reminder of her way of life, yet they were nothing compared to the pink scar on her left cheek that still haunted her. She lifted her hand and began tracing it from her left temple, following it dangerously close to her eye and down across her cheek, ending just before her bottom lip.  Her mind flashed back to that moment -- the moment John’s blade slid across her face. The moment her father had burst into the room, saving her from further interrogation. The moment her family fell apart. She shook off the memory as she peeled off her tank and panties and slipped into the shower.

        After Brooke had showered, dressed, and expertly concealed her scar with drug store makeup, she tossed her things into her duffle and walked out the door. With her job here complete, she was to return home to Minnesota. She knew her father was off somewhere in Ohio on a case, but it was their rule to return to base when they finished a job. She had been working cases on her own for only a few months now. It was nice to finally be out on her own but going home was always something she looked forward to. She tossed her duffle in the back seat of her ’69 Camaro, also known as the love of her life, and headed to the office to check out.

         “Well, Miss Strandferd, did you enjoy your stay with us?” the wiry middle-aged manager asked, as she handed him her room key. She just smiled. “It’s all on your card.  Will you be needing a receipt?” He had barely uttered the word “receipt” before she was out the door.

        She slid into her car, popped open the glove box, and extracted a small black bag. She cursed as its contents spilled all over the passenger seat. There were credit cards and IDs of many different types, all containing various names from Baker to Marks to Young, none of which were hers. She quickly collected each piece of plastic and shoved them back in the bag along with Amy Strandferd’s credit card.  She sometimes felt guilty using fake IDs and cards that weren’t hers, but this life didn’t have a pay check. That was the life, and she accepted that a long time ago. She tossed the black bag back in the glove box next to her 9mm, revved the engine, and was on her way.

        As Brooke drove along, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Another job well done, another family that can sleep soundly once again. She didn’t get paid and it required breaking hundreds of laws, but knowing she'd made a difference in someone else’s life made it all worth it to her. As per the rules she picked up her cell and dialed her father’s number to check in. It went straight to voicemail, so she left a quick message telling him she would be back at base in just under a day’s drive.

        After a few hours on the road, her mind wandered back to the dream that had awoken her, the memory of the night she hadn’t thought of in years. Her father and John had worked together off and on for years starting when she was just twelve. Their way of life doesn’t allow for much in the department of relationships, on any level, but her father and John were thick as thieves. Whenever one needed help on a job, the other was right there to back them up. But that night… the night her father had trusted John to take her out on a hunt, the night she almost got them all killed, was the night that all fell apart. When her father walked into the house and saw her tied to a chair with John standing over her gripping a bloody knife, it was all over.

_Her father pulled out his pistol, pointed it at John, and demanded that he drop the knife and step away from her. John tried to reason with her father and explain his actions. “You’ve seen it, she’s not herself! Something is wrong with her! She’s not your daughter!” Her father replied by putting a bullet in John’s shoulder, sending him to the floor._

_The sound of the gun going off brought Dean running back into the house. She watched him take in the scene of her father standing over his with a gun in his face. His eyes flashed to hers, looking for her to give him his next move, but it was all over, there was nothing left that could be done. Her inability to deal, her inability to handle what the two of them had done had broken her family apart._

_“Get out of this house, don’t call me again. I never want to see your face ever again. If I ever see you or your sons,” he pulled the hammer back, “I swear to God.”_

        That was the last time she ever saw any of them. Sam, who was just shy of a year older than her, had left for college two months prior and (as far as she knew) was unaware any of this ever went down. No one had really talked to him since he’d left. It was kind of a sore subject for John and Dean, and as she understood it, they parted on bad terms. Thinking back though, it did seem a bit melodramatic to allow herself to undergo torture, so everything was kept a secret from their fathers, her’s in particular. But she knew her father, they couldn’t have said anything.

        Dean was supposed to have been looking out for her, and if her father knew what went down…

        She knew John wouldn’t hurt her too badly, she could take it, but what her father would have done to Dean would have been much worse. Her father was a kind, loving man, but family was something he held sacred, and if anyone put his family in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate to put them down.

        She smiled in spite of herself. Even with the way they all parted, the secrets, the drama, they were still part of her family. John may have tied her to that chair and cut her up pretty good, but he was still like an uncle to her, despite it all. John was the one who taught her how to work on cars and even helped her get started on the Camaro. She learned more from John and those boys in those five years than she had from her own father her entire life.

        Brooke and the boys had their own unique relationships. She could talk to Sam on the phone for hours about everything – he hated this life and always wanted out, but she always managed to convince him that at the end of the day, it was all worth it. She liked Sam, they had a great rapport and were always there for each other. She was just never comfortable with him in person. She couldn’t really explain it, she just got an uneasy feeling whenever he was around. She told Dean once, but that only started jokes about she and Sam having crushes on each other. When Sam left for school, he stopped calling and stopped taking her calls. He completely cut himself off. At first, she was angry, but she learned to understand that you have to cut all ties and contacts in order to really get out. She missed him sometimes.

        Brooke’s relationship with Dean, who was nearly five years her senior, was a bit different. She’d admit she idolized him a little bit, even if he had the tendency to be a jerk sometimes. Having grown up in this life he had become an amazing hunter and learned to adapt to situations quickly. He knew what it took to get the job done, which for him included using his good looks and charm to his advantage. Dean was the one who taught her how to fire a gun when she was thirteen; he even gave her the gun that she kept in her glove box. Dean was the “Keeper of Sam” as she liked to call him, since he'd watched out for Sam ever since they were little.  When Sam left, that need to protect someone seemed to transfer to her. She’d found him more annoying than her father at times. She had a lot of fond memories from those five years though, and knowing it was her mistake that led to the end made her heart ache.

        Dean blamed himself for the lot of it, of course. Two days after her father had chased them away, she got a voicemail from Dean apologizing for everything _“It’s me. I just…God… I promised I would always have your back and I let you down. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe I wasn’t thinking, but I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I should’ve...” He began to sniffle as he continued. “I should’ve stopped my dad, I should’ve just stepped in and ended it, but you had asked me not to say anything, so I didn’t, But God, Brooke, I should have! And I’m sorry. It’s all my fau-“_ and the message cut out. That was the first time she had ever heard him come even remotely close to crying. That was Dean though -- always shouldering the responsibility. She had tried to call him back, but his number had been disconnected. She saved it though, because it was the last time, she would ever hear from him. She listened to it so many times she lost count but deleted it a year later when she decided she needed to move on.

        So now it was just Brooke and her dad, since her mom had died when she was just a baby. Her dad kept the details pretty much to himself, but he told her when she was eight, after much crying and pleading.  Something had killed her, and he was determined to find what it was, and that was why he was hardly ever home. That was something over which he and John bonded. John had lost his wife to something as well and had a vendetta to find the thing that did it. It was John who convinced her father that keeping her in the dark and not teaching her to defend herself would come to no good. Little by little her father allowed John, an ex-marine, to teach her hand to hand combat. She also pretended not to know how to use a gun when her father decided to teach her a month after Dean already had. She wanted to help, she wanted to be useful. She knew, just as John had explained, that she was a liability if she was kept in the dark, rendered useless. So, she learned, and she learned as much as she could as quickly as she could.

         She hadn’t thought about those boys in a long time. The sound of her cell brought her back to the present and she let out a little laugh as she fished it from her jeans pocket. She noticed the sun had begun to set as she glanced at the caller ID. She didn’t recognize it, but fellow hunters were always changing their numbers.

        “Hello?”

        “Brooke?” Her heart stopped. It had been five years, but she would know that voice anywhere.

        “John?”

       “Yeah it’s me. Where are you?” There was a hint of concern in his voice.

       “On I-90, just outside Winona.”

       “Pull over.”

       “John, I told Dad I would be home by nightfall, I can’t just-“

       “Just pull over.” The sense of urgency in his voice had her concerned.

       As she pulled the car over to the shoulder a terrible thought crossed her mind. One of the boys was dead. It had to be, why else would he break the silence after five years? Her mind began to race, trying to figure out which one it could be, how it could have happened, mixed with reminders to stay calm and wait for an explanation. She killed the ignition and prepared herself for the bad news.

       “Parked. What’s going on, John?”

       “Don’t go home.”

       “What do you mean, ‘Don’t go home’?”

       “Go West on 90 until you hit Sioux Falls.”

       “You want me to go by Bobby’s? Is there a job he needs help with? I mean, I’ll help. Dad’s in Ohio on a case, so I just gotta tell him I won’t be home as planned.”

       “NO! Don’t call your dad. They can’t know where you are.”

       “Who’s ‘they’, John? What’s going on?”

       John sighed and a sick feeling settled in her stomach. He wasn’t calling about the boys.

       “Dad’s not in Ohio anymore, is he?”

       “No. Caleb called me yesterday to tell me Pastor Mike was killed and that your father was on his way to help investigate.”

       She remained silent, waiting for the inevitable.

       “They’re gone, Brooke, Caleb and your dad.  I’m so sorry.” He paused for her reaction; all he received was more silence. She couldn’t process what he had said. She heard it, but her brain refused to connect the dots. “This demon we’ve been chasing...it’s going after everyone we’ve ever worked with, and when I found out about your dad, I had to be sure you were okay.”

       Her mind began to reel. Her father was gone, killed by this demon that John was after, killed because John was after it, killed because they had been friends. Her father was gone. She was all alone.

       “Brooke, you there?”

       She had to collect herself. Yes, her father was gone. Yes, she was all on her own now, but if what John was saying was true, she may be in danger. She had to compartmentalize and focus. A skill she was forced to master at a young age.

       “Yeah, John, I’m here. So... Bobby’s?”

 

       There were very few hunters that didn’t know Bobby Singer. He had become a staple in the community with his knowledge of the supernatural and his ability to uncover any information that one would need. If there was anywhere that Brooke would be safe from this demon, it was with Bobby. It had been a little over a year since she had seen the crotchety old man. She hated dropping all this on his door step after such a long hiatus, but she didn’t think she had a choice.

        She took a long look at the decrepit old house on the right as she rolled past broken down, rusting cars that filled his lot, a reminder of the life he led before he started hunting. He used to run a salvage yard – still did on the side, as a matter of fact. But just like all hunters, once you got into this life, it consumed you.

        She parked her car behind the house, got out, and looked around. She saw the shop a few hundred yards away where she’d done some work on her Camaro years ago. This was also where she and her father had gotten into their first real fight.  She was just a week shy of eighteen and he was getting ready to head out on a job with John, leaving Dean and Brooke at Bobby’s. She had gotten wind of what she believed to be a potential haunting of a house in a town not too far away, something small, something easy, and she wanted to see if she could help this family out.

_“Absolutely not and that’s final.”_

_“But Dad, it’s just a simple haunting, nothing major.” She said as she pulled a sawed off out of the trunk of her Camaro and placed it in a duffle._

_“I said no,” her father had said taking the duffle out of her hands and tossing it into the trunk._

_“I’m nearly eighteen, I’ve been hunting for nearly six years, this is child’s play compared to some of the hunts we’ve done.”_

_“I don’t care how long we’ve been at this and what kinds of things we have hunted, you are not doing this job alone.” He shut the trunk with force and turned his back to her to walk away in an attempt to end the conversation._

_“Then I’ll have Dean come with me. He’s done jobs like this on his own before it’ll be like a milk run for him,” she stepped in front of him cutting off his path to the exit. She was determined to go on this job. She was an adult now and she felt she needed to start proving she was truly useful. This wasn’t the first time her father had dropped her at Bobby’s to go on a hunt without her. Ever since she could remember he was ditching her here and there if he could. She always got the feeling that he didn’t fully trust her as a partner. She knew it wasn’t just out of protectiveness because when she_ was _on a hunt with him, he was always more concerned with getting the job done than her getting hurt._

_“Absolutely not!” He startled her with how quickly and loudly he responded that time, “I don’t care how many hunts he’s done on his own, you sure as hell are not taking him with you.”_

_“So, does that mean I can go on my own?” She knew she was being overly hopeful, but a girl had to try._

_“NO!” He pushed her aside and pulled open the door, “and if I even HEAR of you THINKING about going on this hunt, alone or not, I swear to God, Brooke,” he gave her a glare to rival all glares before walking out the door._

_She was so furious with her father that that night she snuck out of the house. When she opened the door to the shop, she was almost surprised to find Dean leaning against her car._

_“I figured you couldn’t let this one lie,” he said with a smirk as she popped the trunk to take quick inventory of her stash._

_She had collected quite the arsenal over the years. Any time they had come across a new weapon she would find a way to fit it into her hideaway that John had helped her fit under the fabric in the trunk, mirrored after the one in his own car._

_“I also figured that since this would be your first case without the old man that you might like some back up,” he had added when she had remained silent._

_“Thanks, but I think I can handle this on my own.” She was too angry with her father and too determined to prove herself that she didn’t want to deal with his annoying commentary at the moment._

_“Did you completely read the file Bobby had on this?” He pulled a folded manila folder out of his back pocket and opened it, “apparently the family has been to the hospital a few times already for ‘unexplained injuries’,” he glanced up from the folder to take note of any recognition on her face. When he found none he continued, “So I kinda think that this spirit isn’t too happy about something and probably won’t like a stranger popping off salt rounds at it, but if you think you can handle a pissed off spirit on your first time out solo than be my guest.” He folded the folder up and crossed his arms as he leaned against the car._

_He was right. If this spirit was hurting the family, it was definitely pissed off about something and the last thing she needed was to be tossed around a room and have her ass handed to her with no one to back her up. She knew that she could count on Dean not to snitch on her, but she also could count on him having a tiny bitch fit for leaving him behind.  Besides, she could always trust Dean to have her back, he hadn’t failed her yet._

_“Fine,” she couldn’t help but smile when he raised his eyebrows and got this look like he was a five-year-old who was just told he was going to Disneyland, “but we’re not listening to classic rock the entire way.” The look of glee was replaced with that of sheer disappointment._

       She closed her eyes remembering that job. If she had just listened to her father, she never would have been tied to that chair all those years ago, there wouldn’t have been the huge falling out and maybe, just maybe, her father would still be alive.

       She turned to the house and walked up the steps. The back door opened just as her feet hit the top step and from inside the house emerged Bobby himself. He stopped short when he spotted her.

       “Hiya, Bobby.”

       “Hey,” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “Sorry to hear about your daddy, kiddo,” he said as he stepped back.

       “Thanks.” She stared at the ground. “Bobby,” she sighed, “I need a huge favor.”

       “Anything, why don’t you come on in?”

       As she entered the house she was hit with the familiar smell of Old Spice and whiskey – the smells of Bobby.  His home was an old farm house that had gone to the dogs. On every surface were books upon books, all dealing with the supernatural. In between the books were randomly placed bottles of whiskey, some empty, some on their way to being empty. She took a seat on the old musty couch amongst even more books.

      “What can I do ya for?” Bobby said, all business-like as he sat on the edge of his desk.

      “I need a place to hide out.” No point in beating around the bush.

      “Hide out? You think whatever it was that got your dad is after you?”

      “I don’t know if it is or not, but John thinks it might be and-“

      “John Winchester?”

      “Yeah, he said this demon he’s after is ganking all the people he’s ever worked with and told me to hide out here.”

      Bobby stood up, removed his ball cap, ran his fingers through what little hair was left, and sighed. As he replaced the ball cap he said, “Sure. I can put you up for a bit, or until John figures this shit out, the idjit.”

       “Thanks, Bobby. And you know I don’t expect this to be rent free, I’ll help you out with anything you need while I’m here.”

      “Damn straight you will,” he said with a smile.

      Bobby was a crotchety old man who spoke his mind, was tough as nails, and one of the best hunters she’d ever met, but he’d always treated her like one of his own. She’d even once heard him say to her father, “I think of her as my daughter too, Chris. I’m not about to see anything happen to her either.”

      She tossed her duffle on the bed in the spare room, flopped down, and stared at the ceiling. She tried to think of anything else except her father being gone. She tried to think about the noise her car had begun to make on the way here and what that could possibly be. She tried to think about her most recent case. She tried to think about sleeping. But no matter how hard she tried she kept hearing John’s voice telling her that her father was dead.

      She felt a tear break free and it was all over.

      Everyone she had ever cared for was gone. She cursed her life and cursed her father for ever bringing her into this. It was nothing but death. Every time she got close to anyone, they were ripped from her, either by death or by the sheer messed up realities of her world. She was quick to remember that it had been John who convinced her father, who had wanted her to remain clueless, that he should bring her in to this. John… if they had never met John none of this would have happened. Her father would still be alive. If John wasn’t so reckless that damned demon would never have gone after her father, would never have left her alone in this horrible place. She vowed that she would get out of this life, start an honest, regular life, but not until she found the demon that had killed her father and sent it back to Hell

 


	2. Path of the Chosen Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her father dead, Brooke followed John's warning and decided to hide out at Bobby Singer's. The next day the boys show up and so does a demon.

Chapter Two

     Brooke woke to the sound of voices, rolled over and saw that it was ten in the morning. She figured she better get her ass outta bed and make herself useful. If she kept herself busy she might be able to fend off another night like the last. She slipped on some fresh clothes and tied her hair up in a pony tail, before she made her way down the stairs. When she reached the landing she froze. The voices mixed in with Bobby’s were voices she knew. Voices she hadn’t heard in years. They belonged to Sam and Dean.

     They were talking about how they had found the thing that killed their mom and how a demon that seemed to be working for it was killing off their friends because they had found the colt. The colt was rumored to be able to kill anything, even demons, not just send them back to hell, but kill them for good. All hunters believed this gun to be fictitious, but if a demon had its panties in a twist over John having his hands on it than the rumors must be true.  They talked about how the demon offered John a truce if he would give up the colt. Of course John wasn’t that stupid so he left the real gun with the boys and took a fake to meet up with the demon. Apparently the boys had located the thing that killed their mom and John was giving them the time they needed to use the colt and take care of it for good. That’s when he went missing.

     Anger grew inside her at the mention of John, the man who was responsible for all this, the man that had gotten her father killed. She wasn’t angry with the boys; they obviously would have had no clue as to their father’s plan, that’s how John was. If the demon that killed her father had John and the boys planned on going after it she wanted in. She slowly made her way down the stairs, careful not to make any of the stairs squeak. As she walked into the kitchen she heard Dean say to Bobby, “Thanks Bobby, thanks for everything. To tell you the truth I wasn’t sure if we should come.”

     “Nonsense,” Bobby replied, “Your daddy needs help.”

     “Well yeah, but the last time we saw you, I mean, you did threaten to blast him full of buck shot. You cocked the shot gun and everything.”

     “John seems to have that affect on people,” She said as she leaned against the door way with my arms crossed. Dean turned around; a look of utter surprise on his face, while Sam looked up from a book and without hesitating walked towards her and with his six foot five frame took all five foot nine of her up in a hug. Brooke noticed that she still had that same uneasy feeling in his presence that she had had when they were kids. “Hiya Sam.” she said when he put me down. She glanced over at Dean, who averted his eyes, “Dean.”

     He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

     “What are you doing here?” Sam asked with a hint of concern.

     “Hiding out,” she shrugged. “Your dad called me yesterday and told me…” she couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud, “told me what happened and, uh, said I should hide out here until this is all over, just in case.”

     “I don’t know exactly how much ‘hiding out’ you’re gonna be doing here,” Dean said with a scowl on his face.

     “What do you mean?” She glanced from Dean, to Bobby, to Sam, and back to Dean.

     “It’s coming here, or at least we hope it is.” Sam interjected when Dean declined to answer.

     “The demon? The one that killed… Pastor Jim and Caleb?” She just couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

     “Yeah, Bobby has this idea that we can trap it in one of these protective circles,” He walked back to the book he had been reading when she walked in. “See.” He turned to a page depicting a circle, within which were a pentagram and another circle. Within the circles were odd symbols and letters.

     “They really work?” She asked. If Sam was right and that thing was coming here she wanted to be sure they could trap it and return the favor.

     “Oh yeah, you get a demon in one they’re trapped, powerless. It’s like a satanic roach motel.” Bobby said as he took a seat on the edge of his desk.

     “Man knows his stuff.” Dean said breaking his silence.

     “I’ll tell you something else too.” He looked at Sam and Dean. “This is some serious crap you boys have stepped in. Normal year I hear of, say three demonic possessions, maybe four tops.”

     “And?” Dean asked as he took a seat on the couch.

     “This year I heard of twenty seven so far. You get what I’m sayin?” He looked them each in the face. “More and more demons are walking among us. A lot more.”

     “Do you know why?” Sam asked.

     “No, but I know it’s something big. Storms comin and you boys and your daddy are smack in the middle of it.” Bobby glanced over at Brooke, “and dragging others in with ya.”

     Just then the dog began to bark. Bobby and Brooke dashed to the window and through the blinds saw the chain, but no dog on the end of it. Brooke’s head began to swim, “Something’s here,” she said just as the back door was busted down and in walked a gal with short blond hair.

     Dean reached into his pocket and came out with a flask of which Brooke assumed contained holy water. He took a step towards the girl who took one look at him and with a wave of her hand sent him flying across the room. Definitely a demon!

     “No more crap.” She turned her attention to Sam, “I want the colt Sam, the real colt, right now.”

     “We don’t have it on us. We buried it,” Sam said as he backed out of the kitchen into the study.

     “Didn’t I say, ‘no more crap?’ I swear after everything I’ve heard about you Winchesters, I gotta tell you, I’m a bit underwhelmed.” She slowly walked after Sam as Brooke helped Dean to his feet. “First John tries to pawn off a fake gun and then he leaves the real gun with you two morons. Lack luster man. I mean did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

     “Actually we were counting on it.” Dean said as he walked into the study with Brooke on his heels. The blonde chick gave him this evil look. To which Dean replied by looking up. Brooke followed his gaze to find one of those protective circles painted on the ceiling. If Bobby was right, this chick wasn’t going anywhere.

     She stood back as she watched Sam and Dean tie the chick to a chair, bringing back memories of her time in the chair.  “So this is the demon that’s been ganking people, I assume?” Brooke asked Sam as he walked by. Her head continued to swim as she shared presence with the demon, a sensation she had gotten used to over the years, but still found unsettling. Her dad had been the only one who knew this about her.

     “Yeah, that’s me.” The blonde chick answered for him. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

     “Highly doubt it. I’m sure if we had you wouldn’t be here to talk about it.” Brooke took a step towards the girl, a menacing glee welling up inside her as she realized she was about to exact her revenge.

     “Oh, now I see it. The family resemblance.” A smile crept across the girl’s face. “I’m the one that watched your daddy choke on his own blood. Yeah he looked just like you do right now just before my blade slid acro-“ Brooke slugged her across the face with all the force she could muster. The blonde chick just laughed.

     Sam grabbed Brooke’s arm and pulled her out of the room, giving her a disciplinary look. She jerked her arm out of his grasp and turned to find Dean giving her a complimentary look from the other side of the study.

     “I salted the doors and windows. If there are any demons out there, they ain’t gettin’ in.” Bobby said as he entered the room screwing the cap back on a metal container.

     The boys exchanged looks and Dean stepped in front of the girl. “Where’s our father, Meg?” The demon had a name, interesting.

     She smiled, “You didn’t ask very nice.”

     Dean rolled his eyes. “Where’s our father, Bitch?”

     “Geeze, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” She let out a little giggle, “Oh I forgot, you don’t.” Brooke closed my eyes and sighed, talking about Mary was a sure way to piss Dean off, which it did.

     “You think this is a frickin’ game?” He practically yelled as he leaned over the chair, putting his face in hers. “Where is he!? What did you do to him!?”

     “He died screaming. I killed him myself.” Meg said almost reluctantly.

     Brooke watched Dean’s back go rigid just before he back handed Meg across the face.

     “That’s kinda a turn on, you hitting a girl.” Meg said with a flirtatious look on her face.

     “You’re no girl.” Dean said with disgust.

     “Dean.” Bobby stood up and walked out of the room.

     Dean turned to follow and Sam fell into step with him, “You okay?”

     “She’s lying, he’s not dead.” Dean said in anger.

     “Dean you gotta be careful with her. Don’t hurt her.” Bobby said once they were all convened in the kitchen.

     “Why?” Dean said with a look of confusion on his face,

     “Because she really is a girl, that’s why.”

     “What are you talking about?” Sam interjected.

     “She’s possessed. That’s a human possessed by a demon, can’t you tell?” They all looked back at Meg. Who looked back at them with a crooked, cynical smile.

     “You’re trying to tell me that there’s a girl in there somewhere?” Dean asked with surprise.

     Bobby just nodded.

     Brooke instinctively reached up and ran her fingers over her scar, and quickly realized that yesterday’s makeup may not be covering it so well. She saw Dean’s gaze catch her movement. He saw her putting her hand to her face and the look on his changed from frustration to defeat. Then it hit her.

     “That’s actually good news.” She said. She rummaged through the piles of books until she found the right one. “Exorcism.” she said when she received quizzical looks from all three of them. Each of them replied with a look that could only be described as “duh”. She quickly found the page they needed and handed the book to Dean, who happened to be looking over her shoulder.

     “Nice.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Here Sammy, my Latin’s a little rusty.” He handed the book to Sam and walked back into the study. Sam gave Brooke a look asking if she wanted to do the honors, but she waved him off. Her Latin was a little rusty too, that and rather than worrying if she was pronouncing things correctly she preferred to watch the bitch suffer.

     Back in the study Brooke stood directly in front of Meg, the better to see her squirm. She had killed her father and for that she was going straight back to hell.

     Meg’s gaze moved from Brooke, to Dean, to Sam who was holding the book.

     “You gonna read me a bedtime story?”

     “Something like that.” Brooke smiled.

     “Hit it, Sam.” Dean said from behind her.

     “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”

     “An exorcism? Are you serious?” Meg looked Brooke straight in the eye.

     “Oh we’re going for it baby, head spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards.” Dean said as he walked around the chair.

     Through all this Sam continued to read. “Ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas,”

     Meg began to cringe and Sam stopped reading and looked at Dean.

     “I’m gonna kill you.” Meg said. “I’m going to rip the bones from your body.”

     “No, you’re gonna burn in hell, unless you tell us where our dad is.” Dean leaned in from behind her and said in her ear. Meg just stared forward. “Well at least you’ll get a nice tan.” He looked up and gave Sam the signal to keep reading.

     “eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis, Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili Nomini quem inferi tremunt Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine.”

     Meg began to writhe in pain as Sam continued to read the exorcism.

     “AH!”

     Sam stopped reading.

     Meg looked Brooke straight in the eye and said, “He begged for his life you know. Your father and theirs.” She looked from Brooke to Sam. “Your dad begged with tears in his eyes. He begged to see his boys one last time. That’s when I slit his throat.” Sam and Dean exchanged looks and Sam went right back to reading, a look of determination on his face.

     “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica”

     Dean walked around and confronted Meg to her face. He leaned in and said, “For your sake, I hope you’re lying. Cuz if it’s true, I swear to GOD! I will march into hell myself and I will slaughter, each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me god.” Meg cried out in agony as Sam continued to read. “Where is he?” Dean asked as he began to walk around the room once more.

     “You just won’t take dead for an answer will you?” Meg said in between grunts and groans.

     “WHERE IS HE?”

     “DEAD!”

     “NO HE’S NOT! HE’S NOT DEAD! HE CAN’T BE!” Every muscle in Dean’s body was tight as he tried to restrain himself from striking the demon, the only thing that knew where his father was. He noticed that Sam had stopped reading and that they were all staring at him. His eyes caught Brooke’s and a flash of surprised crossed his face as he recognized the look of anger and hatred that was set upon hers as she looked at Meg. He looked at Sam. “What are you looking at, keep reading.”

     Meg began to scream. Watching her writhe around in that chair, watching her scream and moan, was almost too much for Brooke. She wanted to see this demon bitch suffer and be sent back to hell. After all, she had killed her father. But watching it all happen, and realizing the sheer hate and anger that was building up inside of her, stronger than she had ever felt before, it just all became too much for her. This demon was possessing this poor girl. This poor, innocent girl. Making her do things that were unspeakable. The demon may have been the one in pain, but what Brooke saw was this girl, trapped, and incapable of defending herself. Just like she had been. Her heart began to race, and she was almost in a panic as she realized she had to get out of there. She stormed out of the room, no doubt followed by everyone’s gaze, and planted herself at the bottom of the stairs.

     She could still hear Meg screaming as Sam continued to read the exorcism, but she couldn’t leave the house. If Meg had brought friends they were certainly outside just waiting for someone to come out. So Brooke covered her ears and started humming to herself. She started humming an old Johnny Cash song, her father’s favorite singer. As she sat there on the stairs humming, tears rolled down her cheeks. She was getting her revenge. The thing that killed her father was being sent back to hell where it belonged, than why did she still feel so empty? So lost?

     She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, but she suddenly realized the screaming had stopped. She stood, wiped the tears from her face, and walked into the study. All three men knelt over the girl as she lie on the floor. She was whispering something to them, as Brooke drew closer all she caught was the word “Sunrise” and then the girl was gone. All three of them had looks of remorse on their faces as they stood up. There was a moment where they all looked at each other, as the realization that this girl was dead sunk in.

     “We should call someone.” Brooke said softly, her voice still choked up from crying.

     Bobby picked up the phone and made the call while the boys cleaned up the chair and got rid of the restraints. Brooke couldn’t make herself do anything except look at the girl. She had nothing to do with this. She was just some poor innocent girl who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and was possessed by some demon, and now she was dead. She was used as a meat suit and made to do god awful things, including killing Brooke’s father.

     “What happened to her do you know?” Brooke asked no one in particular.

     “What do you mean?” Sam replied.

     “I mean what happened to her that killed her? It wasn’t the exorcism; it had to be something else.” She turned to face him.

     “She fell out a seventh floor window.”

      She nodded and walked into the kitchen, another innocent victim of this fight against evil.

     “Thanks.” Bobby hung up the phone. “You boys get everything cleaned up?”

     “Yeah, no evidence of foul play.” Dean said as he wiped his hands on a dish rag.

     “Well you boys better get outta here before the paramedics get here.” Bobby said ushering them out. “Brooke and I will handle it from here.” He gestured towards Brooke as she stood by the back door.

     “What are you gonna tell ‘em?” Dean asked as he put his jacket on.

     “You think you guys invented lying to the cops? I’ll figure something out.” He handed Sam the book that contained the protective circles, “Here. You might need it”

     “Thanks.” Sam said taking the book.

     “Thanks, for everything,” Dean said with a nod.

     “You boys just get your daddy back, and when you do, you bring him around, you hear, I won’t even try to shoot him this time.” Bobby gave them a half smile and turned back to the study.

     Brooke opened the back door for them. Sam stooped down and gave her a hug as he said good bye, then headed out the door.

     Dean paused with his hand on the door and turned to look at her. “You alright?”

     She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, at six foot one; her eyes were just about level with his nose. “No.” she replied softly.

     He closed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry, stupid question.”

      “It’s just a lot right now, you know,” He nodded his head slowly, “but don’t worry about me.” She punched him lightly in the stomach and gave a half assed smile. “I’ve been through a lot in my life, and I’ll get through this too, eventually. You just worry about finding your dad.”

     He didn’t say anything. He just put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a heartfelt look, then walked out the door.

 


	3. Path of the Chosen: Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paramedics arrive to take Meg. Bobby puts Brooke to work in the wrecking yard. The day ends just as empty as she feels inside.

Chapter Three

     As she stood watching the paramedics take Meg’s body out the front door she couldn’t help but think about what had happened to her father’s body. Had whoever found him given him a proper burial? Did they cremate him or did they bury him? Had anyone actually found him or was his body still lying there, cold and alone?

     “Miss?” The deputy said bringing her back to reality. “Can you repeat that last bit for me please?”

     “Yeah, sure. I came in and saw Bobby on the phone, apparently talking to you guys, and saw the girl on the floor, dead.” Just as she and Bobby had rehearsed.

     “And where were you when the fall occurred?” The deputy said as he wrote her statement down.

     “I wasn’t here. I just arrived.”

     “Just arrived?”

     “I’m just visiting.” She took a deep breath, “My father just passed and Bobby is the only family I have and he offered to put me up for a while.” She felt a stitch in her side tighten. She had said it out loud for the first time.

     “Alright, and just to clarify, you’ve never seen this girl before today?”

     “No, sir, I have not.”

     Bobby’s story was that she was a transient that was helping him on a few projects in exchange for cash and she was up on the roof of the shop fixing a leak when she slipped and fell. It was the only “accident” he could think of that would explain her injuries.

     When the deputies and the paramedics had gotten on their way Bobby turned to Brooke and looked her straight in the eye. He didn’t speak, he just looked at her for a good few seconds, then gestured for her to follow him outside. As they walked through the lot her mind went back to what had happened to her father’s body. She didn’t want to think about it, it hurt to think the man that had always been there, the man that had protected her all her life was reduced to a body, an empty shell. Sure they didn’t get along much the past few years and he always made her feel underappreciated and useless, but he was her father and she had to know if he was given the proper respects, the respects of a hunter. She wiped away a tear as she spoke, “Bobby, do you know what happened to my dad’s body?”

     He stopped walking and turned to face her. A look of surprise mixed with utter concern on his face. She could tell he was surprised she was ready to even talk about my father yet. “A hunter friend of mine found him and Caleb and gave them both a hunter’s send off. Proper respects were paid and proper care was given.”

     “Thanks.”

     He nodded and continued walking toward the shop.

     It was customary to salt and burn the body of a hunter upon their demise. Angry ghosts are generally created through a brutal death. Many hunters don’t wish to roam this earth and become the things that they hunt, and as they more often than not die a gruesome death, the only way to prevent this is to salt and burn the body. It’s become almost ritualistic with wrapping the body in white cloth and then placing it upon a large pyre of wood to be burned. There were still some that opted for the traditional burial, but her dad had wanted to be burned and she was happy to hear his wishes had been carried out.

     They stopped walking just outside the shop next to a beaten up, rusting sedan. To which Bobby gestured.

     “What about it?” It was a piece of junk, not even worth a dime.

     “This is your project to earn your keep. Tear her down. Anything worth keeping I want you to put in the shop, everything else is to go over in that bin. And when you’re done with this one, I’ll give ya another.” He tipped his hat and walked away.

     Brooke knew this project was a bunch of bull. There was nothing on this car worth salvaging so tearing this car down served no purpose but to keep her busy. Bobby of course was well aware that she knew this. She just shook my head and got to work. She welcomed the busy work. The less idle she was the less likely she was to let her mind wander. She knew she would have to face it all eventually, and that she would have to deal with it, but she just wasn’t ready to do that all quite yet. She knew her father had been given a hunter’s send off and for now that was enough for her. She would deal with the rest of it later.

 

     As she wiped grease from her hands she realized the sun was going down. She hadn’t realized she had been at this project for that long. She tossed the rag in a bin and headed up to the house.

     “I was just about to give you a holler.” Bobby said from in front of the stove, as she walked in the back door and took off her boots. “I hope you like sausage it’s all I got right now,” he gave her a sheepish smile. Bobby was a constant bachelor and lived alone with very few guests. She hardly expected him to prepare her a five course meal with game hen as the main course, let alone cook for her at all.

     “Sausage is fine.” She said as she grabbed a couple beers from the nearly empty fridge. She made a mental note to do some proper grocery shopping tomorrow.

     She sat down at the small kitchen table and set one of the beers on the side closest to him. As Bobby cooked she looked around the room and realized how run down this place really was. When she was younger she thought it was cool that Bobby lived in this run down place, gave him more of an edge, but now, as she took in the peeling wallpaper and discolored kitchen cabinets, she realized just how alone Bobby really was. His wife had died long before she had met him and he’d been alone ever since.

     She was lost in thoughts about Bobby and his life when she felt something scratch her arm. She looked down and saw that on the arm of the chair were rub marks. This had been the chair they had tied Meg to earlier. This was the chair that innocent girl had been strapped down to while they exorcised the demon that had taken over her body. Brooke wondered if she had been awake through it all and if she had lived would she still feel the straps rubbing her wrists raw years later as Brooke still did. She closed her eyes and reminded herself that John had been doing what he thought he had to.

     She looked up to see Bobby standing beside the table, plates in hand, staring at her. When they made eye contact he gave an unsure smile and set a plate in front of her. They ate in silence. She could tell by his sideways glances that Bobby was concerned for her. She had been through a lot these past couple days. She would be concerned for her too if she were him. She wanted to tell him that she was okay, that she would get through it, but she honestly didn’t know if she was okay or not.

     She thanked Bobby for the meal and headed off to the spare room. On her way out of the kitchen she spotted a bottle of whiskey among some books that was still half full. She grabbed it as she walked by, hoping Bobby hadn’t seen.

     She sat on the floor with her back against the bed and stared at the wall. Her mind immediately began to reel. She wasn’t sure which emotion to feel first or which thought was forming when. They all just came in a rush all jumbled together. She took a long draw from the whiskey and welcomed the burn.

     She didn’t want to think about any of it. She didn’t want to think about her father dying and leaving her alone in this world. She didn’t want to think about why these old memories of that night in Illinois kept creeping back up. She didn’t want to think about that poor innocent girl that had died earlier today. She didn’t want to feel the pain, she didn’t want to feel the anger, she didn’t want to feel the emptiness. Because than it would all be real, and she didn’t want to accept that it was real, that it was all really happening. She took another draw from the bottle and felt the world around her slip away just slightly. She had never been one to turn to the bottle, but she wasn’t ready to face reality, not yet. She wasn’t ready to feel the pain. Yes, she had exacted her revenge for her father and that demon bitch was back in hell where she belonged, but for some reason that didn’t seem to matter, it didn’t seem to make anything better. She took another long swig and slowly allowed its poisons to take her over.  She remembered the promise she had made to herself the night before, the demon was gone, and she smiled slightly at how fast that revenge had been taken out, but now that it was all over she was getting out. She needed to get away from all this death and pain. She wanted a regular life. She took another draw from the bottle as she realized that Sam, who had wanted out so badly, had seemed to get pulled back in, but she didn’t have a brother like Dean to drag her ass back in. She had no one so a fresh start was possible for her. As she finished off the bottle and the world began to slip away she made the decision to start her new life at first light.

 


	4. Path of the Chosen: Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wakes up early and before she heads out on her way she decides to do some grocery shopping for Bobby. When she returns Bobby is uneasy and tells her to put the groceries away and get in the truck. Once on the road Brooke begins to understand something terrible has happened.

Chapter Four

    She awoke the next morning with the inevitable headache of someone who downed half a fifth of whiskey in less than an hour. As she walked to the bathroom, change of clothes and toiletries in hand, she could hear Bobby snoring away down the hall.

    A blinding pain shot through her brain as she flicked on the bathroom light. She stood there blinking for a minute or two, allowing her eyes and her hangover to adjust to the blinding light. She set her things on the toilet seat and stood to examine herself in the mirror. Her two-day old makeup was showing its age. Her eyeliner had decided to finally dislodge and smudge down her cheeks following the trail her tears had taken the night before and her foundation was nearly nonexistent and flaky. She sighed as she took her disheveled self in. She hardly recognized herself anymore. In just two days she had gone from a young, almost pretty girl with such life, to this mess. She hated what she saw in the mirror: a helpless, scared, pitiful girl who couldn’t hold herself together, everything that she was not.

    “Pull yourself together.” she told her reflection, “No one is going to hold your hand through this, you’re in this alone now, so suck it up.”

    Brooke watched as the girl in the mirror turned from a frightened child into a determined young woman. Satisfied with what she saw, but still unsure of how long it would last, she turned to take a shower.

    After she quickly and quietly showered, dressed and put fresh makeup in place, she made her way slowly and quietly down the stairs.

    She hadn’t forgotten her plan to leave and start her life anew, but she wanted to do something nice for Bobby before she just took off on him. So, she cleaned the kitchen and straightened things up a little bit. Tossing empty whiskey bottles in the trash and giving things a good dusting. As she put an unopened beer back in the nearly empty fridge, she remembered that she had planned on doing some real grocery shopping. She looked at the clock and saw that it was 8 AM. There had to be a store open somewhere. So, she quickly made a list of what she knew Bobby ate and headed out the door.

    After some driving around town she finally found a tiny family run market that was open. As she walked through the automatic doors, she grabbed a shopping cart and instinctively headed toward the produce aisle. She smiled when she found herself surrounded by apples and carrots, knowing full well that Bobby would not eat this, but she grabbed a few apples anyway.

    She ran into a few employees stocking shelves, obviously surprised anyone was in the store at this hour. She politely smiled and walked by, not wanting to start up any small talk. She wanted to get this done with and get out on the road to her new life as fast as she could. The less time she spent idling in this one the better. However, you can’t escape the cashier. She sighed when she saw the ear to ear smile of the young gal that stood at the register as she approached.

    “Hi there. Did you find everything alright?” she asked as she slowly began to ring things up.

    “Yeah, thanks.” If she kept her answers short, she may get the hint.

    “Haven’t seen you around before. You new in town?” she continued to scan and bag at a glacial pace.

    “Just visiting.”

    “Oh? Who? I know just about everybody here in Sioux Falls.” This time she paused. Brooke’s patience was running thin with this one. She made a note to herself to avoid small towns as she searched out her new home.

    “Just my uncle, who’s expecting breakfast when he wakes up so if you wouldn’t mind.” Brooke gave her a quick smile, which seemed to do the trick because the girl nodded and hurried up the rest of the transaction.

    Bags in her arms, she walked out to her car, as she was about to unlock the door, she caught a flash of pink out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see a little girl, not much older than seven dancing around saying, “Please Daddy? Please!” Brooke’s heart sank as she saw her dark curls bounce around her tiny little face, and saw her fierce green eyes smile up at her as she waved when she caught Brooke looking. She reminded Brooke of herself.

    She looked up at the father, who was also waving with a “What can ya do?” look on his face. He too had dark curls and green eyes, just like her father. She tried to conjure up a memory of her own that resembled this interaction, but she couldn’t. She and her father didn’t see much of each other when she was that age, much less ever have that kind of relationship. She learned at a very young age that when Daddy came home you left him alone.

    She used to stay with Aunt Julie whenever her dad was off on a hunt, who to this day she didn’t think was actually her aunt. When he would come back, he would be either injured or in a bad mood. He would shut himself up in Aunt Julie’s study and not come out sometimes for days. She remembered the first time she had entered without knocking. She must have been six:

_She had just made a batch of yummy cookies and wanted to share them with her father. She slowly opened the sliding doors leading to the study and slid into the room without making a sound. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the walls had been covered in photographs and newspaper clippings depicting some very terrible things. She remembered them because they had never been there before._

_Her father was at the desk with his back to her. She slowly walked towards him captivated by all the photographs. As she drew closer she saw a picture of her mother on the wall directly in front of him, she only knew her from photographs he had shown her, it made her smile, but not for long. Alongside her photograph were newspaper clippings and more photos depicting her mother in gruesome circumstances; lying on the floor in a precarious position, covered in blood. She gasped and dropped the plate of cookies._

_Her father spun around in surprise, “Brooke, what are you…” then he followed her gaze to the photos of her mother and his expression changed from surprise to anger. He walked around from behind the desk and escorted her out of the room, his grip on her arm tighter than it had ever been.  “How many times have I told you to never come in here!” The first time he had ever raised his voice to her._

_“But Daddy, why do you have pictures of Mommy like that? What happened to her?” tears welling up in her eyes, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her._

_“That is not of your concern. Stay out of this room!” and he slammed the doors in her face._

    She knew now that he thought anger and firmness would protect her from the truth and keep her curiosity at bay for fear of angering him again, but that day shaped their relationship, from that point forward she always feared angering him. She never fully trusted him with anything. Whenever he would come home, she would steer clear of him and let him do his job. They never had father-daughter moments, they never bonded. They were just two people who coexisted. When she became old enough to help him on hunts, once John had convinced him to allow her to, she became his soldier, his partner, not his daughter. A partner he never fully trusted. She could never seem to move fast enough, think sharp enough, or aim sure enough for his satisfaction. He left her behind more often than not.

    It pained her seeing this father-daughter interaction and not being able to conjure up her own memory with her father. She gave them both a quick smile and quickly unlocked the car and got in.

    She pulled up to Bobby’s just as he was walking out the door.

    “Let’s go.” He motioned towards the tow truck the second she got out of the car.

    “Good morning to you too,” She said as she heaved one of the grocery bags into her arms.

    “Put that stuff in the house and let’s get a move on.”

    She gave him a quizzical look as she walked past him into the house. He seemed a little nervous about something. She peeked out the window as she set the bags on the counter and saw him almost pacing by the truck. She became a little concerned. Bobby almost never showed his panic. He always managed to appear calm in even the direst of situations. She quickly put away the perishables and left the rest for later.

    “What’s the deal, Bobby? Why so in a hurry?” She asked as she locked the back door behind her.

    “I’ll tell ya on the way.” He watched her walk around the back of the truck to the passenger side, a contemplative look on his face, before he opened the driver door and got in.

    They sat in silence as he pulled out of the driveway and drove through town, a look of determination on his face. Every few minutes he would look over at her like he was about to say something and then turn back to the road.

    “Bobby, seriously, you’re starting to scare me a little. What’s going on?” Brooke finally asked as he pulled onto the freeway.

    He sighed and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Sam called. They found John, he was possessed by the demon,” her heart stopped, “It didn’t stick around for long, but it apparently did a number on them all before it took off. They were on their way to the hospital when they were hit by an 18-wheeler. Sam didn’t give me too many details, just that we need to get the impala from the impound lot before anyone sees the arsenal they got in there. We’re meeting Sam at the hospital on our way.”

    She turned and looked out the window. They couldn’t be that hurt. Sam was up and around enough to join them at the impound lot, so they had to be fine… right?

    She started fidgeting in her seat as they pulled off the freeway and started following the signs to the hospital. The entire drive she had wanted to call Sam to get the full details, to find out if everyone was okay, but she didn’t want to be stuck on the road feeling helpless if the news had been bad, so she refrained.

    She was about to explode when they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. She saw Sam standing just inside the automatic doors and leapt from the truck before Bobby had come to a full stop. It took every fiber of her being not to run across that parking lot. She walked at a controlled steady pace, listening to her heart pound in her ears. He was up right, standing on his own. He didn’t seem to be using the wall to hold himself up. That was a good sign. As she drew closer his face began to come in to focus. She saw the swelling of his eye, the busted lip, and the multiple cuts on his face. He gave a crooked smile when he saw her, but it wasn’t his smile, she could tell it was for her benefit, the pain in his eyes gave that away.

   The three of them had always been a tight knit family. They cared for each other more than anything in this world. They would each die for one another without hesitation. Brooke knew that Sam was feeling a thousand times more fear and anxiety over this than she could even imagine. When she was within arm’s reach, she wrapped her arms around his waist. She thought maybe more for her sake than for his, she wasn’t sure, all she knew was it didn’t seem to make a difference for either of them.

    “How are they?” she asked as she pulled away.

    “Dad’s okay, a little beat up, but okay,” he started to fidget a little and avoided eye contact.

    The smile he had given her as she approached, the way he hugged her tighter than normal, and the way he was avoiding her gaze already answered her question, but she had to ask, “and Dean?”

    He didn’t answer, but the look he gave her told her everything she needed to know.

 


	5. Path of the Chosen:Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts and Demons and Reapers, oh my.  
> Dean is dying and there is nothing Brooke can do to save him. Old memories creep in and she is full of remorse that she never got to tell him it was all her fault and that she was sorry.

Chapter Five

            He looked so small lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to machines that were beeping and humming. The only time she had ever seen Dean in a hospital was when he had been scratched up something awful by a werewolf when they were just kids, but even then he only needed some stitches and bandages, nothing like the condition Brooke found him in as she stood in the hallway and watched a nurse examine the machines and take notes on a clip board.

            Sam hadn’t said much before he and Bobby left for the impound lot, just that Dean was in bad shape and even that appeared difficult for Sam to say. She didn’t press him for details, just hugged him once more and told Bobby she was going to stick around and look in on Dean.

            “Excuse me,” Brooke reached out and tapped the nurse as she passed.

            “Yes?”

            “How is he?” She turned and looked at Dean’s still form.

            “Are you family?”

            “He’s my…. Cousin.” It wasn’t really a lie.

            The nurse sighed, obviously contemplating how much information she should divulge to someone who wasn’t immediate family, “He’s suffered some head trauma and is in a coma.” The nurse finally stated when she saw the sullen look on Brooke’s face. “Doctor’s won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes up. If he wakes up.”

            “If he wakes up? Are you saying there’s a chance he might not wake up?” She looked from the nurse back to Dean and was shocked at how much smaller he looked, how helpless he looked, and at how scared she was.

            “I’m sorry,” the nurse said under her breath as she walked away.

            Brooke stood in the door way watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. She couldn’t bring herself to enter the room. She felt that if she remained in the hallway that it would all go away, that she would wake up at Bobby’s at any moment and this would all have been a dream, but she didn’t wake up. It was real. Dean was lying in that hospital bed.

            She took a deep breath and made a move to walk into the room when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and a chill ran through her body.

            “Damn it. I hate hospitals,” she said as she shook it off.

            This sensation was nothing new to Brooke, just like with Meg. She had been able to sense the presence of ghosts and demons ever since she was 12. She never knew why it manifested itself at that age, but she remembered the first time it ever happened. She had been on her first hunt with her father and felt the same chill run through her body and got the sense that someone was watching them just before the spirit manifested itself. She hadn’t told her father because she thought it was a coincidence, but when she sensed her first demon she knew she had to speak up. Demons were different than ghosts, they made her slightly light headed and dizzy, almost like her brain was sloshing around in her skull. Sometimes if there were many demons involved it would cause her pain, almost like a dull, nagging head ache.

            Because of this, hospitals had always made her feel uneasy, with all the spirits of the recently deceased floating around awaiting their reaper and of those that simply couldn’t move on. Prolonged stays in hospitals always made her feel schizophrenic with an extra dose of paranoia. 

            She took another deep breath and slowly walked into the room. She stopped at the foot of the bed and had to hold back tears. It was one thing to see his motionless form from the safety of the hallway, but to see him limp and lifeless up close was another story.

            Brooke crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. For some reason all she could think about was that night five years ago. Dean was possibly dying right before her eyes and of all thoughts her subconscious decided to drudge that particular night up. What happened that night had impacted their lives more than anyone could have imagined and in usual Dean fashion he had blamed himself for how it had played out. But he wasn’t at fault, not entirely. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as she realized that this may be the last and only time to tell him this. To tell him she was sorry for her part. That he shouldn’t have blamed himself for any of it. That she was probably more to blame than he was. After all, she was the one that threw caution to the wind and walked across that hotel room.

            Another tear fell. He had to know.

            “Dean, I-“ she was interrupted by a soft rap on the door. She turned to find John being pushed in a wheelchair by an orderly.

            She moved to wipe away her tears as the anger inside her grew but thought better of it. She wanted him to see the pain and devastation he had caused. All of this was his fault. Dean lying in that bed, Sam hurting inside and out, her father being killed, Caleb…it was all John’s fault.

            “Brooke.” John said as the orderly excused himself and John wheeled himself into the room.

            She didn’t speak, just glared. She was done letting him off the hook and using the excuse that he was doing what he thought he had to do. This was going too far. Putting his own children in death’s path was beyond reproach.

            “I take it you made it to Bobby’s alright,” he continued as he pulled the chair up to the side of the bed.

            She nodded.

            John nodded his approval and turned toward Dean. Over the years she had learned what John looked like when he was deep in thought and expected to see that now, but what she saw was defeat. She was taken aback slightly. This was John Winchester and John Winchester was always on top of things, always one step ahead, always ready to run head long into a fight. Yet here he was looking like a lost puppy.

            “So, what’s the plan?” she inquired.

            “There isn’t one,” he replied, almost too quickly.

            “What do you mean there isn’t one?” she had to strain to keep from yelling at him. She couldn’t believe he had no plan. “John, there has to be something-“

            “There isn’t,” he tossed her the look he always gave to Sam that said the conversation was over.

            Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking. All the anger she felt towards him for everything he had done, not just recently, but everything, was building up. For how hard he rode Dean, for how he expected Dean to be the parent and watch over Sam, for how he would never listen to Sam, for how he chased Sam away, for her father, and for what he had done to her that night in Illinois. Dean was dying and he had no plan. Dean was dying and he wasn’t even trying. She suddenly had the strong urge to shoot something and at that moment John was that something. She moved her eyes from John to Dean and in her mind promised him she’d be back, then turned and walked out of the room.

            She roamed the halls of the hospital trying to remind herself that despite the way she lived her life, she wasn’t a violent person. That right now, no matter what her feelings were about John, he was right, there probably wasn’t anything they could do for Dean. Every faith healer she had ever heard of always turned out to be a hoax, most hoodoo healers were a joke, and witchcraft always required a price that Dean wouldn’t want anyone to pay for his life.

            She was used to feeling useless, her father was an expert at that, but she had never been helpless. There was honestly nothing she could do in this situation but wait and she hated that. She just lost her father, the only constant in her life, and she could possibly be losing Dean as she walked. Dean. One of the only people in the world she trusted with her life and there was nothing she could do to save his.

            The words Dean left on her voicemail all those years ago popped into her head, “ _I promised I would always have your back and I let you down.”_ She sighed. He had never once let her down, ever. Especially not that night five years ago he had been referring to….

_They walked into the motel room, shrugging off their coats, on a total high. They hadn’t bargained for the ghost to give them as much trouble as it had. It was supposed to be an easy job, but the ghost had tossed them both around pretty good. They each sported contusions on their arms and face. The deep gash above Dean’s left eye still trickled blood, it needed stitches._

_The entire way back to the motel they had laughed and talked about each action and reaction they had taken earlier that night like it had been an epic football game._

_“and when you cracked off that salt round point blank right into the back of her head,” he gave her a big smile, “awesome!”_

_Brooke couldn’t help but laugh at him. This was the first job either of them had done completely without their fathers’ help and he was blatantly excited that it had been somewhat of a challenge. “Alright,” she said taking the responsible adult role, “sit.” she pointed to the end of one of the beds and grabbed the first aid kit out of his duffle._

_Dean sighed and rolled his eyes as he walked over to the bed, obviously frustrated that she was putting a stopper in the fun but knowing full well that he needed stitches._

_She set the kit next to him on the bed and placed her left knee on the bed, in between his legs, to steady herself. He inhaled sharply when she placed an alcohol wipe on the cut. She knew it had to hurt something awful, it was a pretty nasty gash, but she also knew he would never let her know just how much. She finished cleaning the wound and readied the needle and thread. “You ready for this?” He cringed as he nodded, closed his eyes and placed his left hand around her waist to steady himself, as she had seen him do when Sam or John stitched him up._

_While she stitched the cut, which was smaller than it originally appeared, she became very aware of his hand on her lower back, flexing and unflexing with each stitch. When she tied it off, he let out another long, heavy breath and his hand relaxed, but didn’t move. She glanced down at his face as she reached for some dressing, his eyes were still closed, and she realized that they were level with her chest._

_Her heart raced as she became aware of their proximity to one another. She began to tape the dressing in place and became conscious of her shaking hands. She took a moment, closed her eyes and drew in a long steady breath. She adjusted her weight just slightly as she opened her eyes to return to the dressing, but when she did, she felt just how close to him her knee was. Her realization was matched by his when he swallowed hard and sighed, eyes still closed._

_She told herself to relax and focus on the task at hand. ‘Dress the wound, stand up and walk away.’ She thought to herself. She proceeded to tape the dressing in place, slowly due to her shaking hands. In her head she pictured herself patting him on the shoulder saying, ‘All done.’ Standing up and walking away, but for some reason, beyond her understanding, she didn’t move. She couldn’t speak, she was afraid if she did her voice would crack. Her heart was racing so fast it felt like it was about to jump out of her chest._

_She closed her eyes and gave herself a firm talking to, ‘Just stand up. Just walk away. MOVE! Do something!’_

_While she wrestled with herself, she felt his hand slowly move from her waist to her thigh. She gripped the roll of tape she still held in her hands tightly and forced herself to open her eyes, but instead of standing up and walking away, she looked down._

_She looked straight into his piercing green eyes. Her heart began to pound at an alarming rate as she felt his hand tighten its grip on her thigh. There was a hitch in her breath when he reached his right hand and placed it on her cheek._

_She closed her eyes, ‘This is not happening. This is not happening.’_

_Suddenly his lips were upon hers, soft and gentle as he coaxed hers into responding. She dropped the roll of tape, placed her right hand on his arm, and her left found its way to the back of his neck as she leaned into the kiss. Accepting it._

_She had known Dean for years and she had always thought of him as being a little more aggressive, but she was surprised to find him so smooth and gentle. As she lowered herself to his level her knee shifted forward which resulted in a soft moan to be emitted from his lips. With this new closeness she became aware of the growing situation, especially his growing situation, and her mind switched back on. ‘This is Dean, what am I doing?’_

_She pulled away from the kiss, stood and took a few steps away, her back to him. This was Dean, the guy she had grown to think of almost as a sibling. She was scared. She was nervous. She had never been with a guy, not like this. She had always wanted her first time to be with someone she cared about, for it to be special, in that cinematic mushy way._

_She heard the bed creak. She turned to see him walk to the table on the other side of the room and shove the kit back in his bag, his back to her. She watched as he just stood there. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath he took as he raked his hand down his face. All the while she thought, ‘Your idea of this amazing love and this amazing person and losing your virginity in this amazing way is ridiculous. You know damn well that relationships in this life never work out. That you are never going to have that kind of love, never going to have that amazing night. So, the very least you can hope for is that the guy at least cares about you on some level, any level. And you know that Dean cares about you in his own way. He’s always had your back, he’s always been there to save your ass. Yeah, sure he has a reputation with the ladies, but isn’t that a good thing? It’ll just be another fun night for him, no expectations. It’ll be a win-win.’ She fought with herself as to whether it was a good idea to go forward or not, when he turned around and saw her looking at him. They both stood there, staring at each other, not saying a word._

_“Screw it.” she said aloud as she walked across the room, threw her arms around his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss._

_For an instant his body recoiled in surprise, but without tearing his lips from her’s he recovered, wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her in closer._

_He was a little more aggressive this time, he grabbed at her back, ran his hand up into her hair and pulled out the elastic band letting her long hair fall around her shoulders. All while he slowly walked forward, forcing her to take a few steps back until her legs hit the side of the bed._

_He pulled away and looked her in the eye. She sensed he was checking to see if she really wanted to go this far, to go down this road. She ran her hands down his neck and under his over shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it and resumed their kiss._

_He ran his hands down her back and around to her sides, grabbed the hem of her shirt and slowly began to inch it up, clearly waiting for any sign of objection. She wished he’d stop expecting her to object at any second, it was frustrating, and the only way she knew how to show him that he would find no objections from her was to reach down and undo his belt._

_He froze and looked down at her hands as they made easy work of his buckle, even as they shook, and began to pull the belt out of its loops. He brought his gaze up to meet her’s, a look of surprise on his face. He hadn’t expected prude little Brooke to be so forward. Once she had freed his belt, hands still shaking, heart still racing, she slowly removed her own shirt and looked him straight in the eye. ‘You can’t turn back now,’ she thought to herself._

_She watched as he took in her shirtless body for the first time, before he brought his eyes back up to her’s. She could have sworn she saw a smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth as he removed his own shirt, wrapped his arms around her and put his lips to hers again._

At some point she had found a chair and sat leaning forward, face in her hands. That night, as innocent as it had seemed in the moment, was where everything had begun to fall apart. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and rested her head against the wall wondering if she hadn’t walked across that room, if she had just waited, that maybe, just maybe things would have played out differently and they wouldn’t be here. That Dean wouldn’t be dying.

            “Code 500 to the ER. Code 500 to the ER.” Came a voice over the PA.

            Ever instinct told her something was seriously wrong. She got up and started moving down the hall. She saw nurses and a doctor run into a room and her heart sank when it dawned on her, ‘That’s Dean’s room!’ she practically broke into a run as she fought her way down the hall through the mass of people that seemed to have come out of nowhere. She literally ran into Sam as he came into the hall from another room.

            “Sam, it’s…” was all she could get out as she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him down the hall. It didn’t take much effort because Sam was in a near sprint already.

            They came to a sliding halt right outside Dean’s room and her heart fell out of her chest at the sight before them. The monitors were giving off a constant high-pitched squeal and the doctor was shouting orders at the nurses who were scurrying around plunging needles into Dean’s IVs, pushing buttons on the monitor, and pumping air into his lungs as another gave him chest compressions. The doctor stepped in and said, “Clear” just before shocking him. Brooke’s chest felt every jolt as she watched Dean’s body raise of the bed with each shock.

            She reached out and grabbed Sam’s arm as they stood and watched this all unfold. This was all too surreal. Dean was dying right in front of them and there was nothing either of them could do.

            Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end again and her entire body was flooded with the sense of spirit presence, but it was different, this presence was almost familiar. “No,” she said out loud, she could have sworn the presence she was feeling was Dean.

            Her grip on Sam grew tighter. She was mentally thrown suddenly when she felt Sam tense up and look around the room. Before she could ask him about it, she heard the monitors stop their constant high pitch sound and resume the soft rhythmic beeping of before.

            “We have a pulse. We’re back into sinus rhythm.”

            The energy in the room changed dramatically at that point. Both Brooke and Sam let out the breath they hadn’t realized they had been holding. Dean was okay. For now.

            She found herself standing at his bedside as the hospital personnel filed out of the room. She scarcely heard the doctor say, “Let’s go speak with your farther.” As he led Sam down the hall. She was in a daze. He had flat lined. He had technically been dead for two whole minutes. She instinctively reached out to grab his hand but pulled back. Dean hates touchy feely crap. She looked down at his face. The face of a sleeping Dean, one she had seen a thousand times. Her heart clenched. This wasn’t a sleeping Dean. She ran a finger softly across the top of his hand then gently worked her fingers underneath his and closed her small hand around his as tightly as she could. For her.

            She had forgotten how big his hands were, his strong capable hands. The hands that had pulled her out of the fire, figuratively and on a few occasions literally. The first hands that had ever really touched her.

            _Her pants had been discarded, kicked across the room, and she now stood before him in just her bra and panties. As he kissed her, he slowly slid his hand down her side and around the front. She sharply inhaled as he slid his hand between her thighs._

 _He brought his lips to her throa_ t, _planting_ _soft kisses along her jaw line as he went, his free hand in her hair. She buried her face in his shoulder as his hand skillfully found its way beneath the thin cloth and found what it was looking for._

_This sensation was nothing new to her, years of spending long nights alone in a motel with smut on pay-per-view has taught her a lot, but to have someone else do the work while she gripped his biceps and dug at his back with her fingers was something else entirely. And boy did he know what he was doing._

_The hand that was in her hair moved its way to her chin and gentle pulled it upward, so she was looking him in the face. He held her gaze all while his hand continued its work. The combination was almost too much for her to handle, she let out a soft moan just as he put his lips to hers._

_He stepped back, leaving her standing there panting. Arms idly at her sides she watched as his eyes slowly panned her body. When his eyes found hers again, he licked his lips then gave her a cocky smile as he kicked off his boots and unbuttoned his jeans. Leaving his boxers on he kicked his jeans out of the way giving her an eyeful of that growing situation she had felt with her knee earlier._

_He stepped back to her and placed one hand on her shoulder, the other on her hip, and gently guided her on to the bed._

          A tear ran down her cheek. The full reality of losing him began to sink in. She wished she could have the opportunity to tell him, just once, that none of it was his fault. That she was sorry for putting him in that position. She didn’t regret any of it, only that she wished she had handled it better. She was young and naïve. She didn’t know what it all would mean. She hadn’t been ready for that step, but she was glad that it had been him, someone who cared about her.

          “Dean, I’m sorry,” She finally squeaked out as more tears began to fall. “I wish things could have been different. I wish I had been more adult about it. I wish I had had a chance to tell you…. To say that I…”

          Just then she heard someone cough. She turned and saw Sam standing in the doorway holding a paper bag. She reluctantly pulled her hand from Dean’s and wiped the tears from her face.

         “Hey,” he said bashfully pretending he hadn’t overheard, “this may sound weird, but I think Dean is here.”

         “Like in spirit form?”

         “Yeah.” He moved into the room.

         “I felt something earlier-“

         “I did too and so I thought maybe…” he pulled a box out of the bag and revealed a Ouija board. “I know it’s kinda lame, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

         “No, that’s actually a great idea,” she said as she took the box from him and began to open it.

        She saw him smile proudly out of the corner of her eye.

        They sat on the floor side by side and laid the board out in front of them. Sam placed his fingers on the planchette as he asked, “Dean, are you here?”

        They both jumped as the planchette began to move. Brooke followed it with her eyes as it hovered over the word _Yes._

        “It’s good to hear from you man. It hasn’t been the same without you, Dean,” Sam laughed.

        The planchette immediately began to move again as Sam read the letter aloud, “H.. U… N… Hunting? Are you hunting?”

        The Planchette moved to _Yes._

         “Is what your hunting in the hospital?” Sam asked.

        “Do you know what it is?” Brooke asked at the same time.

        They both let out a nervous laugh.

        “What is it?” Sam rephrased.

        The planchette began to move again as Brooke read the letters out loud this time, “R… E… A…P…E…R.”

        Brooke and Sam exchanged nervous looks.

        “Dean, is it after you?” Sam asked hesitantly.

        Brooke inhaled deeply as the planchette moved to _Yes._

        “If it’s here naturally, there’s no way to stop it,” Sam sighed. “Man, you’re um...”

        “Screwed,” Brooke finished for him.

        Sam suddenly moved to stand up and began walking to the door, “No, there’s gotta be a way. There has to be. Dad will know what to do.”

        Brooke sat on the floor eyes still on the Ouija board. A reaper. She had read about them but had never faced one. What she did know was that a reaper was a bringer of death. They collected souls of the dead. Dean really was screwed. Another tear got loose and ran down her cheek. She gasped when he cheek became suddenly cold as though someone with a cold hand had placed it on her face.

       “Dean?”

       Before she could say anything else, Sam was back.

       “So, he wasn’t in his room,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, “but I got dad’s journal, so who knows. Maybe there’s something in here.”

       He leafed through it, mumbling the words as he read them and turning the page when he didn’t find what he was looking for. Brooke stood over his shoulder.

       “There. Go back.” She said.

       He turned back a page to see the word _Reaper_ written across the middle of the page.

       Sam read the page aloud.

       “There isn’t anything in here about how to catch one.” Brooke said as she crossed her arms and began pacing the room.

       Suddenly she felt it. That under water feeling accompanied by slight nausea, ‘Demon.’

       Sam’s attention still on the book, she walked out into the hall. She paced up and down trying to pin point where it was, but with all the spirit activity and the stress of possibly losing part of her family, her senses weren’t as sharp as normal. Panic set in as she realized this may be the demon they were after. The one that had gotten Dean here in the first place. She hastened her search, trying to calm her mind and focus on the sensation. Where was it the strongest? Where did it fade?

       She wandered into rooms, garnering threatening looks from their occupants. The feeling was consistently stronger near the stairwell to the basement, she began to descend the stairs, one hand on the rail, the other pulling a flask of holy water from her pocket, when suddenly it was gone. The nausea ended and the dizziness vanished.

       “HELP! I NEED HELP!”

       She spun around. That was Sam. She broke in to sprint up the stairs and down the hall. When she rounded the corner into the room she stopped in her tracks. There were nurses and doctors bustling about like last time, but this something was different. She gasped when she saw him. Dean. Sitting upright in the bed trying to pull the breathing tube out of his mouth, fighting with the nurses as they tried to get him to lie back down. She saw Sam in the corner of the room and walked over to join him. Her eyes staying on Dean.

       “He just sat up,” Sam said quietly, but with excitement, “He was lying there and then suddenly his eyes were open and he was sitting straight up. I don’t even know how it happened.”

       Brooke reached over and took Sam’s hand in quiet celebration. Dean was going to be okay.

       The nurses eventually got Dean to relax long enough for them to remove the breathing tube and convinced him that he needed further tests to make sure he really was okay. The Doctor informed them later that everything was fine. His brain swelling had vanished, his internal contusions had healed. It was as if nothing had happened. The three of them sat there in awe as the doctor left the room.

      “Wait, so you said a reaper was after me?” Dean asked as soon as he knew that doctor was out of ear shot. Sam had spoken with Dean about what had all gone down while they waited for one of the scans.

      “How did I ditch it?” He asked looking at Brooke.

      “Beats me.” She said.

      “Dean, you really don’t remember anything?” Sam asked.

      “No, except this pit in my stomach,” He looked up at Sam with a scared look, “Sam, something’s wrong.”

      There was a knock on the door, and they all turned to see John leaning on the door frame.

       “How you feeling, Dude?” He said as he stepped into the room.

       “Fine, I guess. I’m alive.”

       “Well, that’s all that matters,” John replied.

       “Where were you last night?” Sam asked with an angry look on his face.

       John looked from Sam to Dean and back, “I had some things to take care of.”

      “Well that’s specific.”

      “Come on, Sam,” Dean sighed in annoyance.

      “Did you go after the demon?” Sam accused.

      “No,” John quickly replied.

      “You know, why don’t I believe you?” Sam began to raise his voice.

      It all makes sense. She HAD felt a demon last night. She stared at John wondering what he had done.

      “Can we not fight,” John asked calmly as he stepped further into the room. “You know half the time we’re fighting I don’t know what we’re fighting about. We’re just buttin’ heads. Look, Sammy, I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ve always done the best I could. I just don’t want to fight anymore okay?”

      “Dad, you alright?” Sam asked with a quizzical look and a tone of concern.

      “Yeah,” John said with a smile, “I’m just a little tired. Hey, Sam would you and Brooke mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

      “Yeah sure,” She and Sam both said softly as the each turned to leave the room

      Neither of them knew that would be the last time they would ever speak to John. They would return from the cafeteria to find John on his back on the floor of his hospital room. His heart had stopped. The doctors said that there must have been a complication from the injuries he had sustained from the accident. That they had no way of knowing, but Sam, Dean, and Brooke knew better. None of them wanted to admit it to each other or themselves, but they all knew it had something to do with the Demon.

      “Time of death: 10:42 AM.”

 


	6. Path of the Chosen: Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the hospital they all shack up at Bobby's. Sam finds a folder in his dad's stuff that contains information that will throw Brooke for a loop.

Chapter Six

           It had been about a week since the accident and all three of them had opted to shack up at Bobby’s until things were sorted out and Dean had fixed the Impala. Bobby gratefully had obliged. He tried to convince Dean the car wasn’t worth saving, but Dean wouldn’t hear it. He intended to rebuild her from the ground up. He had gotten her stripped down to the frame and finished reshaping the body work back to her old curvaceous self, but he still had a ways to go.

            He had been quiet, really quiet, since the hospital. It was to be expected after everything that had happened, but Brooke was still concerned about her friend. She brought it up to Sam one night.

            “He hasn’t talked much to me either. Every time I ask him about how he’s doing he snaps at me and changes the subject.” Sam grabbed a couple beers out of the fridge and handed one to Brooke. “I don’t think he’s dealing with it. I think he’s putting all his focus into that car so he doesn’t have to.”

            “I agree. I almost get the feeling that he feels guilty about the whole thing.” She said as she popped open the bottle. “How are you doing?”

            “I’m dealing.” He leaned against the counter and silently stared at his feet for a moment, “How are you though? It’s been a whirlwind lately and I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten that you lost your dad too.” He furrowed his brow with concern.

            She smiled to herself, knowing he was trying to change the subject, but knew the concern was genuine, “I have good moments and bad ones. It’s just all so surreal. Losing my dad like that and then everything that happened with you guys. Sometimes I wake up and think it was all a dream. Then I come down here to you or Dean making coffee and I’m reminded that it’s all real.”

            Just as Sam was about to speak the back door flung open and in walked Dean, covered in grease and dirt. He entered silently, grabbed a couple beers from the fridge, and walked back out without having looked at either of them. Brooke and Sam exchanged looks.

            Brooke sighed. It had definitely been a whirlwind lately, and there were moments when all she wanted to do was grab a bottle of whiskey, lock herself in the bedroom and just hide or say screw it all and pack all her stuff and run away as she originally had planned.  Then she would catch a glimpse of Sam, barely holding it together and trying to keep it that way for his brother, who, himself, was a ticking time bomb, ready to go off any second, and she knew she couldn’t. She had to stay, she had to stay strong. They needed her to be. They were all she had left, and she had to be there for them.

 

            “Have you eaten?” Brooke asked Sam the next afternoon as she crunched on a pickle in the kitchen.

            “Not yet. Are you making sandwiches?” He stuck his fingers in the jar and pulled one out for himself.

            “Yeah. I thought I would take one out for Dean. I don’t think he’s eaten much other than beef jerky and beer since we got here. Maybe see if he wants any help with the Impala.” She plopped a piece of bread on top of her finished sandwich and handed the knife to Sam. “Have at it.”

            “You know he probably won’t let you help. He never lets anyone help.”

            “No, Sam, he never lets YOU help,” She grinned at him over her shoulder as the door closed behind her.

            She was greeted with the distinct sound of a socket wrench as she rounded the corner of the shop. She could see Dean’s feet sticking out from under the car. She gave them quick tap as she walked by.

            “Food,” she said when he started to roll out from underneath.

            She set the plate down on the picnic table and climbed up to sit atop. She twisted off the cap of a whiskey bottle she had grabbed on her way out and took a swig and offered it to Dean when he approached.

            “Thanks,” He said as he sat on the other side of the sandwich and took the bottle from her hand.

            They sat there in silence while he ate, passing the bottle back and forth.

            “How’s it going?” She finally asked.

            Dean scoffed and tossed the almost finished sandwich back onto the plate and stood up. “I really wish people would stop asking me that.” He said jaw clenched.

            “Woah, slow your roll. I was talking about the car,” She said with her hands in the air.

            He raked a hand down his face and took a deep breath.       

            “It’s going fine. The trunk lid is giving me some grief though. I pulled it off another car and I don’t think it fits right. I’ll have to modify it a little bit and that’s going to slow things down some.”

            “Anything I can do to help?”

            He started to speak and then stopped himself. ‘Probably to tell me no’ she thought. He narrowed his eyes a little, clearly thinking over his response before he gave it.

            “You know what, sure. Don’t tell Sammy though, he always gets butt hurt when I don’t let him help.”

            “Well, I mean I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t let him with in 10 feet of my car.”

            “Do you still have that old Camaro?” Dean smiled a little.

            “Yeah. It’s parked out back.”

            “I think I saw it yesterday. It’s green now?” He gave her a disapproving look.

            “Yeah. It’s been in a few wrecks over the years and the last time I thought I would go emerald. The red was starting to age her a little bit. Plus, it’s a pain to keep from fading.”

            They continued to talk about their cars. Light conversation, but she was just happy he was talking. It had been so long since she had just sat and talked with him. She had almost forgotten how funny he was. Not as funny as HE thought he was though.

            “When did it get dark?” Dean asked as he took the last swig from the bottle.

            Brooke hadn’t noticed either, that the sun had gone down, but now that she had she realized it was getting a little cold out.

            “I don’t know, but it’s getting a little chilly out here. Maybe we should head inside.” She hopped off the table and brushed herself off.

            Dean hesitated.

            “What? Come on.”

            “I think I’ll stay out here for a little while longer,” He walked over and turned on a flood light illuminating the area outside the shop where the Impala sat.

            Without another word she turned, went up to the house, cracked open the back door, and grabbed a jacket off the hook that Bobby kept just inside the door. She slid it on as she walked back to the shop. She turned the corner and saw Dean sitting at the picnic table, head in his hands. She paused. She knew he wouldn’t like her seeing him like that. So she shuffled her feet in the gravel to announce her approach.

            He jerked up and ran his hands across his face. She gave him a few seconds to compose himself before she walked into view.

            “What are you doing out here?” He asked pretending to look through the tool box.

            “I don’t know, I just thought I would sit out here with you tonight. You talk less than Sam does and I don’t feel much like talking about…. Stuff tonight.” She wasn’t lying. Sam did talk a lot and sometimes she just wanted to sit in silence, but at the same time she didn’t want to be alone either.

            Dean nodded and went back to shuffling through the tool box. Brooke took a seat atop the picnic table and sat in silence. The hours came and went in silence as Brooke just sat and watched Dean work on the Impala. Occasionally he would ask her to grab him a tool, but mostly he worked quietly.

 

            The next morning Brooke woke a little later than usual. She had stayed up pretty late just watching Dean work. She headed down stairs to find Bobby on the phone. She waved with a smile as she opened the fridge. She had just twisted the cap off a bottle of water when Sam and Dean came through the door.

            She tossed them each a bottle.

            “Thanks. Oh, I found something in Dad’s stuff that you might be interested in, actually.” Sam gestured for Brooke to follow him.

            Sam rummaged through a stack of papers and sifted through a box until he came up with a thick brown folder. “Here,” he handed it to Brooke. “It has photos of your mom’s murder and some other stuff and I thought you might like to have it.”

            Her mom. She hadn’t seen a photo of her in years. Her father had refused to keep any. She stared at the folder in Sam’s hand and it took all her strength to simply reach out and grab it. “Why did your dad have a file on my mom?”

            “No idea. Maybe he thought he could help your dad or something.”

            “Sammy, we should start getting some stuff together so we can get on the road,” Dean interjected.

            “Where are you boys off to? The Impala ready to go already?” Bobby asked as he hung up the phone.

            “No, we just got a lead on something.” Dean shrugged.

            Bobby nodded, knowing better than to ask anything more.

            “Would it be alright if we borrowed a car?” Sam questioned from the other room.

            “’course. Let me find the keys to somethin’ that’s runnin’,” he disappeared.

            Brooke sat down at the table and set the folder down in front of her. The boys bustled around her packing up some things, chatting, and bickering, but she was ignorant to it all. Her eyes were glue to that folder. She knew it contained the information that was the start to all of this. The reason she grew up a hunter, the reason she was sitting in this house, at this table, an orphan in so many ways.

            “B! Hello, Earth to B!” Dean’s voice snapped her back to reality.

            “Sorry, what?”

            “Bye,” Sam laughed from behind Dean by the back door.

            “Oh, sorry. Bye guys. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she waved.

            “We should be back in a few days,” Dean said to Bobby as they walked out the door.

 

            Being the queen of avoidance like she is, Brooke couldn’t bring herself to open the folder. She wasn’t sure she would like what she saw. Pictures of her mom ripped to shreds? Pictures of her mom at all? Her father had ingrained it in her that she didn’t need to ever see those pictures, nor any picture of her mother. So much so that she began to believe at some point that seeing them could actually harm her in some way. As silly as that sounded even to herself.

            Instead she chose to keep her hands busy. She took the folder out to the shop with her, she didn’t need Bobby poking around in it either. She set it on the picnic table as she set to work on the Impala. She knew Dean would probably prefer she not, but she needed to do something and she remembered he had complained about the trunk lid giving him grief.

             Hours later she had the lid in place after having bent and soldered to make it fit. She tightened the last bolt and shut it with pride. It had been a long time since she had modified a part and she had a great sense of accomplishment.

            She walked over and tossed the wrench back in the tool box and caught sight of the folder. She took a deep breath. She had to open it at some point. She couldn’t hide from it forever.

            Or could she? The fight was her father’s not her’s. She could just toss the folder in the garbage and never think of it again. She could toss it on a fire and forget it ever existed.

            She ran her hand over the stiff paper. It was her fight too. It was the whole reason she was who she was. Finding out what had happened to her mom had become her life purpose. The main reason her dad had taught her anything about hunting was because she promised to help find the thing that did it. She also didn’t want to be alone when she opened it. So she snatched it up and took it inside.

            Bobby was at the desk combing through some books when she walked in.

            “Hey, I almost thought you had left too. Where ya been?” He asked shutting the book in front of him.

            “I was outside. I needed to stay busy.” She set the folder down in front of him and pulled a chair from the kitchen. “Sam gave me this before he left. It’s supposedly a folder about my mom that John had. I haven’t been able to bring myself to open it.”

            Bobby eyed the folder for a moment and moved to open it. He hesitated and raised his eye brows at her as a way to ask if it was okay. She gestured for him to go ahead as her heart jumped into her throat. What would they find?

            Bobby silently flipped through the pages, a grim look on his face. “Brooke, I think you need to take a look at these pages. I don’t think this is what you think it is.”

            He slid it over to her and on top was a police report. On it her mother’s name was listed as complainant, below it a couple of lines down was her father’s name. Listed as offender.

            ‘What?’

            She read on. It was a domestic assault report. Her father had gotten drunk and thrown a vase at her mother and pointed a gun at her. She couldn’t believe it.

            Her breath hitched when she saw her mother’s statement. She had been pregnant with Brooke when this had happened.

            “Bobby, what is all this?” She asked sifting through more of the report.

            “I don’t know, kid, but it looks like your daddy wasn’t exactly who you thought he was. Take a look at this,” he handed her a stack of papers.

            On the top was the name of a mental hospital in Missouri. Her father’s name listed as patient. She skimmed the document looking for his diagnosis.

            Schizophrenia.

            “But, Bobby, a lot of hunters who talk end up in mental wards with this diagnosis.”

            “Kid, this was before your daddy knew anything about the paranormal. Your mamma hadn’t even passed yet.”

            She looked for a date and inhaled sharply when she saw it… it was shortly before she was born. Her mother hadn’t been killed yet. The stories her father always told said that he hadn’t known about the supernatural until after he started searching for answers about her mother, but here it was in black and white from a psychiatrist saying that he was having demonic ideations before she was even born.

            ‘There has to be a misunderstanding. There’s no way.’ She thought as she sifted through the remainder of the folder, when she stopped dead in her tracks. There, in the official police reports and hospital records was a newspaper article with a familiar face smiling up at her.

            “Jeremy Ketchum,” she said softly pulling it out from under the other papers.

            “Who’s that?” Bobby asked, leaning over to get a look.

            “My junior prom date,” she laughed to herself. “I hadn’t thought of that night in years. Well, it wasn’t exactly one I would choose to remember.”

            “What do you mean?” Bobby implored.

            “Well, after the dance Jeremy wanted to park somewhere, as you know teens do after prom and well,” she laughed nervously, “he wanted to go further than I was comfortable. He ended up ripping my dress and I hit my head on the car door as I climbed out giving myself a nice goose egg, but not without leaving him something to remember me by and hopefully a lesson to never try that with another girl.”

            “What was that?” Bobby asked with a little pride, already knowing.

            “Let’s just say he definitely had some explaining to do to his friends the next day when they saw the beautiful shiner I gave him and the sprained wrist.” She smiled but it didn’t last for long. She brought a hand to her mouth in shock when she caught a glimpse of the headline. “Hastings’ teen brutally killed. Body found by teammates. Oh my god.” She looked at the date, “This was just a couple days after prom.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

            She suddenly flashed back to that weekend.

            _She was sitting at the table eating breakfast when her father had come storming in covered in mud._

_“Pack your stuff,” he growled throwing her duffle across the room at her._

_“You finish the job already?” she asked as she dumped the bowl in the sink._

_“Something like that. Hurry up.” He snarled tossing the room as he collected his things._

_“You already find a new job? Because I kinda like it here. I actually have friends and I was sorta think-“_

_“NO! PACK YOUR SHIT AND GET OUT TO THE CAR.”_

_She about fell over. That was only the second time in her life he had ever raised his voice like that to her. She packed her bags quickly and with head hung low walked out to the car._

            “Bobby, you don’t think…”

            “Couldn’t have been. Did you even tell him?”

            “No, he wasn’t too happy that I had gone in the first place. I wasn’t going to let him have an I told you so mome…. Oh shit… I did tell Sam though. I walked into the hotel room and went straight to my room and called Sam. I needed to process it. It had never happened to me before.” The tears began to fall when realization set in. “Bobby…Bobby, what if he over heard me talking to Sam? I mean I don’t want to believe he would do this, but the way he was acting when we left Nebraska…” she wiped away a tear.

 


	7. Path of the Chosen: Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke seeks the answers to what really happened the night her mother died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for so much time between chapters. I have been taking classes over the summer and college summer classes are intense. Since I am going back to school full time and working full time, there may be months between chapters. I will do my best to not let more than a few months pass before posting chapter 8.

Chapter Seven

 

           She sat in her car staring in her rearview mirror at the brick building across the street behind her. She needed answers and the only way she was going to get them was straight from the source: The Baldwin Police. The paperwork in John’s folder stated that a Detective Clay Darcy was the lead on her mother’s case. She knew he would be the one to shed some light on what had happened to her mother that night and hopefully give her more detail on what it all said about her father. She didn’t dare go to Nebraska to see what they had on Jeremy’s murder for fear someone might recognize her and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she knew what happened there.

            She leaned over the seat and pulled her ID bag out of the glove box and sifted through it trying to find the right identity that would get her what she needed. She settled on Agent Tina Markle, a trainee at Quantico. She would go in under the guise that she was doing some research on unsolved murders. Her heart began to pound and she swallowed to keep down the bile that was creeping up. She checked herself in the mirror one last time, to ensure her scar was covered, took a long deep breath and before she could talk herself out of it pushed the car door open and got out of the car.

            She wasn’t sure what answers she would get if any, but she hoped that Detective Darcy would be able to at least tell her more than what was in that folder. Her hands shook as she pushed open the door to the station. Two officers were on their way out causing her to step aside allowing them to pass before entering the building. This gave her time to hesitate. Did she really want to know? She had her suspicions, but did she really want to know? She took another deep breath and walked through the door.

            Before her was a narrow hallway with benches on either side. The tile on the floor was shiny from being polished regularly, but the scuffs and chips that told the story of time remained. On the walls were bulletin boards covered in posters for bake sales, car shows, craft fairs, and many other small-town local fare. But one bulletin board, in particular, caught her eye. She slowly walked over to the end of the hall where it hung and she felt like all the blood had left her body. Right in the middle of the board was a picture of her father. Younger, with a beard, but indisputably her father. Above his picture was the word “WANTED” and below that were the words “for Kidnapping of a minor”. She was confused. Kidnapping?

            Then she saw it.

            Her.

            Just to the left of her father’s picture was a poster of her. She must have been about 6 or 7 years old, but that was definitely her. It was a missing child poster. Under abductor, it showed a picture of her father.

            The room began to spin, and she had to put her hand on the wall to keep upright. She remembered flashes of living with a lady named Kelly, who she remembered being told was a friend of her mother’s, and her father coming to get her. She remembered driving off with him in a black car, but that was all.

            But kidnapping? How? Why was a father taking his daughter considered kidnapping?

            “Ma’am? Can I help you?”

            She was shocked back to reality.

            “Ma’am?” She turned to see a young woman with deeply tanned skin and long dark hair standing behind a large wooden desk.

            “Yes, Sorry.” Brooke reached into her pocket and pulled out her fake ID and introduced herself to the young woman, “I was wondering if Detective Darcy was still on the force.”

            “Captain Darcy is here, would you like to speak with him?” she picked up the phone and started to dial his extension.

            “Yes, he was lead on an unsolved case I am interested in.”

            “Hey, Clay I have an Agent Markle?” She gave Brooke a look asking if she was correct, to which Brooke nodded, “Here to see you. Mmm-hmm. She says she is here to do some research on some unsolved cases and asked to speak with you about one of yours in particular. Mmm-hmm. Okay.” She hung up the phone and smiled at Brooke. “He will be down in just a moment. Can I get you a cup of coffee or a glass of water while you wait?”

            “Oh, no thank you. I think I’ve already had way too much caffeine this morning.” They both chuckled.

            “I hear you on that. Some mornings I feel like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

            Just then a young man in a black hoodie stepped up to the desk. Brooke excused herself to allow the woman to help him. Brooke stepped aside and purposely put her back to the posters. She had so many more questions. Why was taking her considered kidnapping? What had he been keeping from her all these years?

            “Agent Markle?” Came a deep male voice, one that crackled from many years of smoking.

            Brooke turned to see a tall, maybe 6 foot, older gentleman, in a blue button-up that barely contained a stomach that would make Santa jealous. She accepted his outstretched hand.

            “Thanks for seeing me. I am sorry I didn’t call ahead, this case just came on my radar last night and I knew I needed to get in here to speak with you directly.” She said as she followed him up the stairs and into an office just to the right of the stairwell.

            “Oh, no worries at all. I am always willing to help a young’un further their education in law enforcement.” He maneuvered himself around an old black metal desk and sat in a short, squeaky green desk chair. “Now, which case were you wanting to discuss?”

            “The Laura Holt case.”

            He looked at her with a quizzical look. “I thought you said you wanted to look at unsolved cases?”

            “The Holt case isn’t unsolved?”

            They had convicted someone? But who? Her dad had told her it was something supernatural. So who did they blame for it?

            “Oh no, that was an open and shut case. Caught the guy literally red-handed with the smoking gun.” He swiveled in his chair to pull open a drawer on a tall filing cabinet and pulled out a file, which he dropped on the table and flipped open to a picture. A picture of her father. She felt her blood run cold and vomit start to rise in her throat. “It was her husband, Chris Holt. We found him in the house the next morning, covered in blood with the gun in his hands. Mumbling something about demons in between coherent sentences about making sure his daughter was okay. We shipped him off to the loony bin right away.”

            “Are you sure he did it though? I mean, just because he was covered in blood and happened to be holding a gun doesn’t mean he was the one that killed her.” She refused to believe what this man was telling her. Lots of hunters got in the life because their family member had been killed by something and they were either blamed for it or could never find what had done it.

            “Oh no, we were sure. This wasn’t the first time he had been locked up in that hospital. He hadn’t even been out for a year when he done it. He had been locked up the year before because he had waved a gun at his wife screaming about demons. So none of us were surprised when we walked in and seen that he had actually done it.” He shook his head. “I remember that scene. There was blood everywhere,” he leaned forward and flipped the file to the crime scene photos, “almost like he had drug her body across the floor from one room to another. He had drawn weird shapes on the walls in her blood. It was coo-coo for sure. Besides all that, his fingerprints were all over the house in the blood writings and on the body. Not to mention the gunshot residue on his sleeve.”

             She flipped through the photos trying to find the weird symbols, maybe there were demon banishments or symbols to keep something at bay, but no. They were strange squiggles and diamond shapes, nothing she had ever seen in her years of occult and lore research.

            Was her father legitimately crazy?

           “Where was the baby while all of this was happening?” she asked.

           “Tragic thing was, the baby was down the hall in the nursery the entire time. Praise the lord she was just a baby. If she had been a little older something like this could have traumatized her for life. Speaking of the baby.”

           “I saw the posters in the foyer. He kidnapped her? How did that happen?”

           “Bastard escaped the hospital. Nobody knows how he managed to get passed all the security, but he knocked out an orderly and used his badge to scan himself out in the middle of the night. Stole a car from a driveway a few miles away, snuck into the home where the girl had been living and drove off with her in the night. Sad thing was the woman she was staying with insisted on her visiting her father when he was lucid so the little girl knew him when she saw him, which was probably why she so easily got in the car with him without raising any alarm to the woman sleeping down the hall. We still don’t know what happened to either of them. Hopefully, nothing horrible happened to the little girl. That man was a psycho and in my opinion, should have been put to the needle instead of sent to that hospital.”

           “Correct me if I am wrong, but Michigan hasn’t had the death penalty since the 60’s, am I right?”

           “Unfortunately,” Darcy said gruffly. “But as you can see,” he leaned forward and closed the file, “this case has been closed, but if you would like to weigh in on some other cases I have I can pull out a few of note.”

           “That was really the only case I was interested in. I am so sorry that I wasted your time. I really should have called ahead, I just got ahead of myself. I do that sometimes,” She said as she rose and offered him her hand. “but is there any way you can send me a copy of that file?”

           “Oh, no worries at all.” He said taking her hand and giving it a soft shake, “and of course I will send you a copy. Just leave your info with Sheri at the front desk and I’ll get it over to you asap. If you think of any more questions you have or want to look into any other cases we have please feel free to give me a call,” He fished a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her as he escorted her out of his office.

           “Thank you again, Captain.” She waved as she turned to descend the stairs as tears welled up in her eyes. _Was everything Dad told me a lie?_


End file.
